


Take A Little Breath Before You Catch An Early Death

by ShaeNotChwe



Category: Original Work
Genre: Don't Read This, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, Slight Cursing, This is trash, kind of, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 03:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21206351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaeNotChwe/pseuds/ShaeNotChwe
Summary: Why isn't there a sad sunglasses emoji. To show that I'm unhappy but still cool.





	Take A Little Breath Before You Catch An Early Death

**Author's Note:**

> Don't take any of this seriously, holy hell. It's literal word vomit and total trash. Yet another valid reason to hate myself. *awkward wink*

She turned the blade over and over in her hands. She just looked at it, watched it. She’d never had these sort of thoughts before, not once in her whole 24 years of existence. She didn’t really know _what_ to do about them. Cutting was something other people did, people with actual problems, people who had a hard life or had been damaged somehow. So why did she have these thoughts. These thoughts that kept getting louder and louder until all she could hear or see or feel was a blade. Would a blade fix this? It was something she’d only read about in stories, maybe had seen on tv. She didn’t know anyone personally who had done it or had been affected by it, at least as far as she knew.

It seemed too simple, really. That a quick cut could clear her mind. How could it, these thoughts weren’t physical. They weren’t _tangible_. She couldn’t feel them with her own hands, so how could doing something so physical, so raw, fix that. She didn’t feel like anything was abnormally wrong with her, she just felt wretchedly unhappy. Had for a while. 

See, this is where her mind started playing tricks on her. She was unhappy, she knew that much. But _why. Why_ was she so unhappy. What was the _reason._ Well, long story short, she didn’t have one. She didn’t _know_ why she was feeling such unhappiness. Sure things had been going to absolute shit in her life recently, but who _didn’t _have problems like that. Who _didn’t _have problems and issues to deal with. It seemed to her that her problems were no worse than anyone else’s, someone always seemed to have it worse. So why was she being such a little bitch about it. The things that had happened recently were by no means the worst situation she’d ever been in. There were times that were _definitely _harder and more trying. So why now, and not then, not when he died, why _now_ was she seeming to fall apart.

And it didn’t even really feel like falling apart to her. She was just... so overwhelmingly _unhappy_. She was a generally happy and smiley and bright and bubbly person. She loved to laugh and to make others happy. She couldn’t remember ever feeling such an inconsolable sense of mournfulness. Which all added to the feeling again. She was sad and hurt and couldn’t figure out _why_ so therefore there was no reason to be feeling those things, right? There was no tangible reason or explanation she could think of as to why she felt the way she did.

Which brings us back to the beginning. She’d read stories about cutting, about the characters cutting, seen it in movies. She had been thinking about it all day. The thought kept going through her head like a steam engine, cutting down every other thought until there was only the one. She wouldn’t be stupid about it, she’d just try it once. Do it in a spot no one would notice, like her thigh. Maybe just one quick cut would help. But see, razor blades were something that no one bought anymore. Or if they did, they were at least ninety and still called a ‘couch’ a ‘chesterfield’. Razor blades were something that seemed convenient for whoever was in those stories but not so practical for real life.

So. Improvisation seems to be in order. She had been thinking about what she could use. An exacto knife, a kitchen knife, so she couldn’t use those. First, she didn’t have an exacto knife, and second she couldn’t use a kitchen knife. Again, she wasn’t stupid. Though maybe she is, for thinking about this at all. Whatever, it didn’t really matter what she used, as long as it was clean.

She ran a sharp finger nail over the spot she would cut, pressing hard and imagining it. Imagined how the skin would split in the wake of the blade, how the blood would seep out. She wondered if it would be slow, taking its time and almost oozing, or if it would be quick, bubbling out like water from a broken dam. She was almost morbidly curious to find out. See, she still hadn’t decided whether she would do it or not.

She didn’t want to lose, to give in, but she also was tired of being the strong one, the tough one, the _man. _Maybe just a moment of weakness was all she needed. No one seemed to notice her sadness. Her family, her friends, the people around her didn’t notice. Which is sort of what she wanted, but knew was not what she needed. She needed someone to see, to see through the facade, the mask, to help her and to hold her. But no one ever would see, would they. Because she said the right things, and did the right things, and always smiled. How _could _they see. She knew no one could fix her problems, she wasn’t naive enough to even think that, but she needed someone. Someone to just hold her and listen and to just be there. She was the strong one, remember? _She _did the holding and hugging and listening. And she loved it, she did. She loved taking care of people and helping them however she could. But just for a little while she’d like it if someone took care of _her._ Gave her the tactile comfort she so desperately craved. Maybe then she wouldn’t be so unhappy. Maybe if she had someone to turn to she wouldn’t even be considering this.

But, well. No one ever said that life was fair. Or easy. To lay in a bed and just hold and be held seemed like such a simple thing, but so unreachable. She’s been in a never ending dance with crisis for a long while now. 

Maybe it’s time to do something about that.


End file.
